


Well, You Didn't Make It Easy

by helens78



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Drunk Sex, Fake Marriage, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-07
Updated: 2008-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron's determined not to do something he shouldn't, but life--or something--keeps throwing wrenches in the gears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, You Didn't Make It Easy

**1\. Don't jump your archaeologist.**

An eight-month dry spell would make anybody look good to Cam; he'd been through enough celibate stretches to know how that felt. Like most of them, this wasn't by choice--there was the crash and the physical therapy, first off, and then just being so damned busy with SG-1--and hell, he'd field-tested the gear himself, and it all still worked, so it wasn't like he had something to prove, right?

Yeah, but. There was the _I'm-only-human_ twitch of interest a guy got in his dick when seeing someone covered over with sweat from a workout (or, for that matter, Vala in her leather _whenever_), and there was repeating over and over, _get your eyes off the man's shoulders, son_, forcing himself not to look at Jackson like he was a cool drink of water and Cam was thirsty as all hell.

Parched or not, the last thing Cam wanted was to fuck up his brand-new team by putting the moves on one of them. That was the sort of thing you couldn't take back if it went wrong, and it'd lead to a hell of a lot of distraction if it went right.

If he spent a lot of time thinking about Jackson's ass while he was jerking off, well, that was a long way away from actually doing anything about it. Man couldn't help who he got a hard-on for; what he _could_ help was what he did about it.

Jackson wasn't military, but Cam sure as hell wasn't gonna ask him and wasn't gonna tell him, and that, he decided, would be that. He hadn't gotten the hang of looking away before Jackson started looking back, yet, but he'd pick it up sooner or later. So far, all he'd gotten from Jackson was a curious expression, the same kind of thing Jackson directed at old books and wall carvings. Nothing to worry about. It'd sort itself out eventually.

* * *

**2\. Don't let Vala pick who's participating in the "bonding ritual".**

"Oooh, me!" Vala said, holding up her hand and batting her eyelashes at the Nualivan medicine man.

He gave her a sorrowful look and shook his head. "No, you cannot, I fear. The bonding ritual is for men only."

"Oh." Vala pouted for a moment, then eyed Jackson, then Cam. "All right, but do we get to watch?"

"All may watch."

Cam frowned, and Jackson glanced back at him. Vala was beaming again, though, and she pointed at both of them. "Daniel volunteers."

"Wait a--"

"And so does Cameron."

"No, hold on, I--"

"So be it," said the medicine man. He walked over to Jackson and Cam and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "The bonding ritual begins."

Twenty minutes later, Cameron was dressed according to the ritual, which was to say he was butt-ass naked. He was also stretched out flat on his back and trying to remember that smell in his garage--no mental image of unattractive desk-bound generals in bikinis was going to save him this time. Jackson, wearing the same ritual birthday suit, was bending over him, painting symbols on his chest and chanting in Nualivan, and Cam knew he'd have jerkoff material for _weeks_ if he could just get through this without humiliating himself.

He made it all the way until Jackson painted a squiggly little curve under his navel, and then he grunted and closed his eyes and held his breath. Jackson paused, and when Cam got his eyes open, Jackson was giving him a wry grin.

"Well, I did wonder how I was going to fit seven symbols on that," he murmured.

"Just hurry the hell up already."

Jackson didn't; there was a rhythm to each of the symbols, a specific length of time each one was supposed to take, and by the time Jackson was finished, Cam wasn't the only one who could fit seven symbols down his dick.

He decided it was better not to mention it, but it did make him curious. With Vala around and all, he hadn't figured Jackson for the type who didn't get laid regular, but then he spent a lot of time in the mountain staring at old artifacts. Didn't exactly get out much.

He made it a point to ask Jackson out for a beer, after they got home. Jackson sounded cranky when he turned Cam down, and Cam agonized for a day or two about whether Jackson had thought he'd been asking for more than that beer. He'd thought he'd been perfectly clear about it--"it'd take more than some funky alien paint job to make us act weird with each other, right?"--but who the hell knew what Jackson thought about things like alien paint rituals? Maybe he just wanted to remember it and get it down in his mission reports in peace.

* * *

**3\. For God's sake, don't drink unidentified booze out of a horn. Also: Do not let _Jackson_ drink said unidentified booze.**

Jackson relaxed and happy was an unfamiliar sight. Cam liked it--more than he'd admit in public, that was for sure--and he plopped himself down on the ground, elbowing Jackson in the ribs once he got there.

"I can see why y'all like this place," he said. Jackson handed him the horn full of whatever-in-hell, and Cam shrugged and took a swig. It went down smoother than he'd expected; it tasted like a good beer and had an after-the-fact kick like a hit of neat scotch. He expected a cough to come any second; when it didn't, he raised both eyebrows and looked into the horn. "How much of this stuff have you had?"

"Enough," Jackson said. He nudged Cam's shoulder with his own and took the horn back. "Well, not _enough_, the horn's not empty."

"I can help with that."

"Uh-uh. Get your own."

Cam shrugged and made his way over to the buffet tables, nodding and smiling at everybody he passed--it was nice, for once, to be on a planet full of people who were sane and friendly, and who didn't want to kill them, strip them, steal from them, or sell them into slavery. He managed to find his own horn full of beer-scotch-whatever, and he took it back to Jackson, who stood up--wobbling only a little--once Cam got there.

"Going somewhere?" Cam asked.

"I think we'd better get a tent before they all fill up."

"Sam and Teal'c probably have one--"

"Trust me," Jackson said, and he led Cam off to a tent on the outskirts of the celebration. It was quiet, it was warm enough, there was room for two; Cam took a few long drinks out of his horn, ignoring the way it made the tent spin just a little, and he undid the laces on his boots one-handed, pushing his boots off as soon as he could.

"Oh, damn, that feels good," he mumbled, wriggling his toes. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No." Jackson polished off what was left in his horn and set it aside, unlacing his own boots and kicking them aside. Somewhere along the way he'd gotten a flashlight out, turned it on; most of the light was buried in the blankets, but there was enough illumination to let him keep an eye on Jackson as he drank.

He kept watching Jackson as his horn went from mostly-full to three-quarters full to half-full (a lot less than half-full, now that he thought about it, given the way volume of a cone worked), and at the halfway point he offered it to Jackson again. "You want some more?"

"No," Jackson said, and he moved closer, giving Cam just enough time to think _wait, what the fuck_ before he fucking _bit Cam's shoulder_.

Cam dropped the horn, booze spilling over the blankets, and jerked away. "Jackson--"

"Mitchell," Jackson said, grabbing Cam by the front of his shirt and levering him onto his back. "So you know who I am. And I know who you are. We're one up on most of the people in these tents."

Jackson was stretching out all over Cam, pushing a thigh between Cam's legs, and Cam groaned, eyes closing. "You are so piss-fucking-drunk," Cam groaned. "And you're gonna hate the both of us in the morning. Get _off_ me."

"Believe it or not, yalatta wine doesn't lead to hangovers," Jackson said, bending his head down and biting the side of Cam's neck.

Cam hissed, and his hips went shoving up of their own accord; his dick didn't want Jackson to go _anywhere_. _You been listening to me this long; we are not doing this. We're _not_._ He got his hands under Jackson's biceps, got a grip on them (_shit, that's really not a reason not to do this_), steeled himself and _pushed_. It was enough to get Jackson off him, though it put Jackson on his knees between Cam's legs. Maybe not a huge improvement.

"Back off," Cam said quietly. "I'm asking you as a friend. Please."

Jackson gave him an odd, puzzled look--the kind of expression he got on his face when a translation turned up exactly the phrase he _wasn't_ expecting--and he nodded. "I'll see where Sam and Teal'c got off to."

As soon as his footsteps faded out into the distance, Cam took advantage of his small pocket of privacy to get his dick out and jerk off--fast, silent, ruthless, remembering Jackson's teeth on his shoulder, on his _skin_. Jackson was a biter, hell, in a million years Cam never would've guessed that one--

He'd just gotten himself cleaned up when the tent flap at his feet opened and Jackson poked his head in. "Hey," he murmured. "Sam and Vala and Teal'c are about all that tent can hold without exploding. Will you kill me in my sleep if I stay with you?"

"Naw," Cam murmured back. "You're safe with me."

Jackson smiled--it didn't quite reach his eyes--and reached for the flashlight he'd left behind. He turned it off, and in the morning, Cam was startled--and grateful--that Daniel had been telling the truth about yalatta wine and its miraculous lack of hangovers.

He sure as hell wasn't going to touch the stuff again, though.

* * *

**4\. Posing as a teammate's husband had damn well better only go so far.**

It wasn't Cam's _fault_, goddamnit. He'd followed Jackson's lead, he'd done everything Sam and Jackson told him to do on P2G-108, he'd kept his eyes lowered, he hadn't asked for seconds at dessert.

And _still_ some councilman bozo had decided Cam would make a good husband for his daughter, and now Jackson was talking a mile a minute trying to explain why that just wasn't gonna happen. Cam had tried to step in on his own behalf, but it'd done more harm than good--bringing himself to the attention of the interested parent just was not a good idea _at all_\--and finally he'd been shoved out of meeting room altogether.

He leaned up against one of the marble pillars here in the entryway and sighed. A few minutes later, Jackson stepped out of the meeting room and walked over to Cam.

"Tell me I didn't just fuck up this planet for us altogether," Cam pleaded.

"You didn't just fuck up this planet for us altogether," Jackson said.

"Thank _God_."

"The councilman was very disappointed to hear that you're already married."

"I--uh, okay, of course. My wife's back on Earth and all, but--"

"Husband," Jackson corrected. "Or, actually, not exactly a husband, um, more of--their word for it is _kel'mish_. It's an arrangement where one man pledges himself to another, and his _kel'mish_ can assign him wives if he wants, but ultimately, the _kel'mish_ is in control of the _day'mish_'s other relationships--"

"But the point is I don't have to marry anybody's daughter. Right?" Cam prodded. When Jackson didn't say anything, Cam gritted his teeth. "_Right?_"

"No..." Jackson pursed his lips. "But."

"Oh, hell, there's always a 'but'--"

"In order to prevent them from taking offense, your _kel'mish_ is going to have to turn it down for you."

"Okay. Uh." Cam's eyebrows twitched up. "Who's my _kel'mish_?"

"That would be me."

Cam sucked in a breath so hard he ended up coughing. "Okay. Okay, fine. So you tell them I can't get married to anybody else, and--"

"Well, _we_ actually tell them."

"'We' tell them," Cam repeated, eyes narrowing. "What's that involve, exactly?"

When Jackson didn't answer, Cam groaned and covered his face with one hand. "Just how many people do we have to do this thing in front of?"

"I love how you're assuming the worst--"

"I didn't say _worst_, I just... after the last dozen planets, I've figured it all out. The universe is full of a bunch of goddamned perverts, and us back home? We're the galaxy's fancypants prude spinster auntie, or something, because we don't fuck in public to seal all diplomatic agreements. Christ al_mighty_." Cam peeled his hand away from his face. Jackson was grinning. "What's that look for?"

"We don't have to have sex. But I like the image of the Tau'ri as the galaxy's prude spinster aunt."

"Oh." Cam frowned. "Okay. Then what?"

And that was how Cam found himself on his knees, with Jackson's hand on the back of his neck, squeezing harder than Cam thought was strictly necessary in order to sell this little act. He listened while Jackson said all the words that were apparently necessary, and he stayed quiet while everyone nodded, the councilman looked disappointed, and Jackson--_bastard_\--scratched his fingernails down Cam's neck and just under his collar.

It took weeks before he could take a shower while Jackson was in the room. At first, he'd been afraid it'd play hell with their workouts, but Jackson had picked up the habit of showering at home lately, so no worries there. Post-mission cleanup, well, he'd discovered a couple dozen little excuses to either get into the showers fast or dawdle while Jackson was finishing up himself, and nobody seemed to pay it any mind. He'd lucked out on that.

* * *

**5\. Save the fighting for things that are actually _bad_ (Goa'uld, the Ori, Clemson), and stop protesting when things you actually want fall into your lap.**

Jackson was standing on Cam's doorstep, a six-pack in one hand and a grocery sack in the other, and Cam raised both eyebrows at him. "What's all this?"

"I hear there's some kind of big game today. I thought I'd make guacamole."

Cam blinked. "You want to watch the Carolina/Clemson game?"

"Mostly I just felt like beer and guacamole." Jackson grinned. "You can always send me away if you want..."

"Oh, hell no," Cam said, "Mama Mitchell didn't raise any fools. You're early, though, the game's not starting for another hour."

He led Jackson inside, down the hallway to the kitchen; Jackson put his grocery sack down and stashed his beer in the fridge. "Hey, say that again," he said, leaning up against the counter.

"Uh, which part? Game doesn't start for another hour, or--"

"Hmm, no--the part about your mother not--"

"Raising any fools?" Cam grinned. "I wouldn't turn down--"

"Well, I was hoping not," Jackson said, and he pushed right into Cam's space, held him tight against the counter, and kissed him. Cam groaned, tried to reach up and push Jackson back a step, but Jackson grabbed him by both wrists and pinned him down. It was a pretty even match, except it seemed like every inch of Jackson wanted Cam right where he was, and only about half of Cam was willing to fight.

When Jackson finally pulled back, Cam took a deep breath. "Hell," he whispered.

"Bad hell or good hell?"

"Oh, good hell. Definitely going to the good hell."

Jackson kissed him again; this time Cam kissed back. Jackson finally let his wrists go; Cam let himself reach out and get a handful of Jackson's ass, two hands full, as he rocked forward.

"I was about ready to break out a two-by-four," Jackson murmured.

"My head's pretty thick," Cam said, resting his head against Jackson's shoulder and trying--oh, and it was so damn _hard_, no pun intended--not to just squeeze Jackson's ass and rock up until he came in his pants. "You might not've gotten anywhere that way."

"I had a feeling. You said we had an hour?"

Cam checked the clock on his microwave; it was only after he'd confirmed it--"yeah, an hour and ten minutes"--that he groaned at himself. Getting laid should _really_ have been a higher priority than a football game, but hell, Carolina/Clemson--which Jackson _knew_ when he came over, that sneaky son of a bitch--

"I can work with an hour." Jackson stepped back and started pulling Cam in the direction of Cam's bedroom. "It's not like you're going anywhere afterwards."

And Cam had to admit that no, he wasn't.

_-end-_


End file.
